


Core 'ngrato

by thesoulsailor



Series: one shots [2]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 20:09:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5018716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesoulsailor/pseuds/thesoulsailor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke loves Michael and Michael writes Jet Black Heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Core 'ngrato

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paperstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperstorm/gifts).



Luke walked in on Michael playing guitar on the couch. Luke had spent the day in the studio with Calum, writing for their second album and Michael had been still asleep when Luke had left. Now, clad in trackie dacks and a sweatshirt that Luke identified as one of his own, Michael kept trailing his fingers over the strings, mumbling words under his breath. Michael had been doing that a lot lately, writing songs. The old worn acoustic from their “If It Means a Lot to You” cover and his notebook were in Michael’s hands seemingly everywhere they went.

Michael wore that look on his face that told Luke it was a bad day. That, too, had been happening a lot lately. Leaving Michael to his task, Luke went to the kitchen to prepare dinner for them.

  
Michael didn’t speak during dinner, his eyes dull as he scraped up the pasta Luke had made with his spoon. Whenever Luke tried to initiate conversation, Michael would just smile at him before dropping his gaze back to his plate. Michael was trying, Luke could see that. He wished it was enough.

“I wrote a good song today with Cal,” Luke said as he climbed into their bed, “Feldy was a fan, too. It’s amazing to see the album come together slowly.”

“Amazing,” Michael gave back, quietly, and Luke tried hard to breathe past the tightness in his chest, the hand that tied his stomach in knots. It wasn’t until he felt Michael’s arm around his waist, that Luke could breathe again. Was it possible to die because you loved someone too much? If it was, Luke would have gladly given his life for Michael’s.

Luke was woken up in the middle of the night by a muffled yell. A silent sigh fell from Luke’s lips, then he pulled himself together and wriggled around in Michael’s grip, that had become as tight as a vice.

“Michael,” Luke cooed, wiping the sweat-damped strands off his boyfriend’s forehead. Michael gave a whimper, “Michael, wake up. Wake up, it’s a dream.”

With a shudder and another tightening of his grip, Michael’s eyes fluttered open, swaying around aimlessly for a second before Michael came to fully and he began crying. Luke helped him out of bed, Michael pliantly stumbling after him as he lead them into the bathroom. Luke sat Michael down on the toilet lid while Luke worked the hot water faucets. Once the water had warmed up, he guided Michael into the tub. Luke didn’t ask Michael to undress. He knew the other boy wouldn’t want to. It took a bit of wriggling around (both of them were over six feet after all) but eventually Luke had managed to wrap his arms around Michael, Michael’s head bedded on his chest while his sobs turned into dry-hiccups and the warm water from the showerhead poured down on them.

“You should leave me,” Michael whispered into the damp air long after Luke had turned the water off, causing Luke to snap his eyes back open.

“What? What did you say? Why would you ever say that?”

Michael didn’t answer.

“Michael!” Luke used his hand to tilt Michael’s head towards him by his chin, forced the other boy to look at him, “why?”

Michael smiled at him, such an overwhelming amount of despair in his eyes that it knocked the breath right out of Luke’s lungs, “Because I’ve got a jet black heart and yours is made of gold.”

“That’s not true,” Luke said, determinedly. “Your heart isn’t jet black. You’re just... “

“Broken,” Michael stated, toneless, “I am broken.”

Luke wanted to protest, but then Michael was crying again and he resorted to taking care of that first, pressing kisses and encouraging words into Michael’s skin. Light was breaking through the blinds in front of the bathroom window by the time Michael’s breath evened out against his neck.

Luke took Michael out for pizza the next evening. He invited Ashton and Calum as well, because if Luke knew one thing that would always lift Michael’s mood, then that was some good old banding. They had to sneak in through the back entrance, as to avoid a mob outside of, or godforbid even inside the shop, but they managed.

Ashton turned towards Luke the moment Calum had taken Michael to refill their sodas, “What’s up with him?”

Luke followed Ashton’s line of vision to see Michael standing motionless while Calum did his best to make placing the cup beneath the dispenser as exciting as possible. Ashton and Calum knew, had noticed Michael’s slow but visible mood decline over the past months. It was impossible to have secrets from the band.

“I don’t know. Yesterday he told me that,” Luke felt his eyes burn at the pure memory, “he told me that I should leave him.”

“What?” Ashton frowned, “Why would he do that?”

Luke wiped his nose, shrugging his shoulders, “Something about that he’s broken.”

“Will you?” Ashton asked, cautiously, “Leave him, I mean.”

“What the hell? Of course not!” Luke became breathless at the thought alone, “I love him. He’s my whole world, I could never… I love him.”

Ashton searched his eyes for a moment, then he nodded. Looking back to where Michael and Calum were standing, he said, “He loves you, too, you know. Whatever’s been going on inside his head, that never changed. He still looks at you like you’re the sun.”

Luke couldn’t help but feel relief at Ashton’s words, reassurance. He knew that Michael loved him, and he knew that whatever was happening to him wasn’t Michael’s fault, but it was still soothing to hear Ashton say it.

“We will get through this,” Luke said, determinedly. They had taken on the world. They could pull through everything.

“Yeah,” Ashton smiled at him, “you will.”

Michael left the next time they had a couple of days off. He went to his parents house, declining Luke’s offer (or rather begging) to let Luke come with.

“I just need a couple of days to think,” Michael assured him before he kissed Luke, softly, and was out of the door, nothing but his guitar case, a small backpack and Luke’s heart in hand.

Luke spent the three days it took Michael to return to him hanging out with Calum and Ashton during the day. At night, he lay in bed, listening to ‘Wrapped Around Your Finger’ on repeat until he fell asleep. Michael had written it for him after the first time they had slept together, back in the LA house. They hadn’t had sex for nearly three weeks. Luke was able to handle the physical aspect, he would never force Michael to do something he didn’t want to do just to get off. Luke did miss the intimacy though, missed the feeling of being one with Michael, having him and let Michael have him like only the other was allowed to. Luke buried his face deeper in Michael’s pillow and forced himself to sleep.

Luke was asleep on the sofa when Michael came back. The other boy woke him with a soft kiss to the temple, slowly letting his lips wander down in pecks to Luke’s mouth.

“I missed you,” Michael murmured once they had broken for air and Luke wanted to cry in relief. Michael looked better. The dark circles under his eyes weren’t as prominent, his hair a newfound jet black. Smiling, Luke let his finger glide over the feather threaded through the black strands. He made a mental note to send Karen the biggest bouquet of delicacies West Sydney had to offer.

Wrapping his arms around Michael’s neck, Luke pulled the older boy on top of him, “I missed you, too,” he pressed their lips back together, “so much.”

Luke’s heart fluttered when he felt Michael’s hands slip beneath his shirt, gently stroking the sensitive skin of Luke’s lower back.

“Yeah?” Michael asked, pupils dilating.

“Yeah,” Luke gave back, a puff of air escaping him when Michael rolled off of him and onto his feet, just to pick up Luke a second later. Savouring the butterflies in his stomach, Luke let Michael carry him to the bedroom.

“I talked to my parents,” Michael said as he slipped back into bed after having discarded the washcloth he had used to clean dried cum and their mixed sweat off of Luke’s stomach.

Luke pressed a kiss to the pale skin of Michael’s sternum, tiny smile playing on his lips when Michael threw one arm over Luke’s waist, using his free hand to card his fingers through Luke’s damp hair.

“What about?”

“I’m going to get therapy.”

Luke arched his back to meet Michael’s eyes. There was fear in Michael’s green irides, but also hope and most prominently determination. Luke smiled, genuinely, and pressed his mouth against Michael’s, “I am proud of you.”

Michael’s eyes went wide, “You are?”

“Of course,” Luke laughed, taking Michael’s hand and pressing a kiss into the palm, “you want to work on getting better. Of course, I am proud of you. What did you think I would say?”

Michael shrugged, trying to hide his answer in a mumble, “Dunno, I thought you might think I’m…”

“What?” Luke furrowed his brows, “I might think you’re what?”

“... fucked up,” Michael admitted, “and weird and stuff. I actually just told you so you could reconsider my offer.”

Luke wanted to get angry because he was angry at the world that had caused Michael to think him being not fine made him undeserving of love. He knew that would drive Michael into a shell, however.

“Well, you are definitely weird,” Luke sighed before squeezing Michael’s hand, “but you are not fucked up. And I will never leave you, ever. You’re stuck with me til we’re old and wrinkly, sorry.”  

Michael shot him a smile, small but genuine, then he buried his face in Luke’s neck.

Luke needed a moment to decipher his next words as they were muffled by his skin, “I’m still gonna be more punk rock than you.”

Luke allowed himself to snort, but it came out more giddy than anything. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Michael responded, “even when we’re old and wrinkly.”

“We could go on a reunion tour, then. Oldsos.”

“Shut up, Luke.”

“You love me.”

“With all my heart.”

Luke smiled into the darkness of their bedroom.

There were sparse things that came close to the feeling of being on stage, having twelve thousand people scream your name, chant along to the music you had created and Luke felt exhilarated every second of it. It was the opening show of their second album tour and so far it had easily been the best show of Luke’s life. It wasn’t until they ran back on stage for the encore and Michael took the center position that the stadium exploded, however.

“I wrote this song,” Michael smiled into the microphone as he waited for the noise to die down to a bearable level, “I wrote this song during a time I struggled in a way, I know many of you do too. So I wrote this song for you, and for me, as a reminder. It’s about accepting your struggle and reminding yourself what you are fighting for and who,” Michael’s eyes met Luke’s for the fraction of a second, “who you are fighting for. Sing along if you know the words! This is Jet Black Heart.”


End file.
